


All of it Was Made For You (and me)

by thegreatandpowerfultoaster



Series: Passenger 'Verse [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Just a teeny bit!, The web is at it again, Web!Rosie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22619983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandpowerfultoaster/pseuds/thegreatandpowerfultoaster
Summary: Rosie finds Annabelle Cane. Or...Maybe that's the other way around.
Relationships: Rosie & Annabelle Cane, Rosie & Tim Stoker
Series: Passenger 'Verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567009
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	All of it Was Made For You (and me)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a couple fics about what will be the culmination of 'Cicatrice'! Yes, you have to have read that first. This takes place around Cicatrice chapter 37, and before 38!

She's had everything out out on her desk for a while, now, and there's a poster board underneath her desk that has a big diagram out, but she's well aware that it could be seen if she isn't careful - especially here, in the institute. Rosie likes to think her desk is her own domain, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know that Elias or just the Beholding could be watching.

Anyways, there isn't a great way to contact any of the people she needs to - not at this point. 

Elias is not taking (most) visitors (she knows where Basira's been, but won't tell for the sake of keeping something together in this building), she's not going to get near Jared Hopworth until the last possible minute, and Annabelle Cane disappeared after...well. Legally she hasn't got an address anymore, and if she does, the spiders don't want her finding it.

That leaves...hmm. The Fairchild's, anyone from the Cult of the Lightless Flame, and...The People's Church of the Divine Host. 

So...Cults, basically.

Rosie wonders if she can ask Mister Lukas for a raise for having to call not one, but there cults. Probably not. He is (predictably, at this point) also part of a pseudo-cult.

Martin would probably be equally annoyed at that request. 

She used to like Martin, until a couple months back, even. He was noce, and secretly witty, and gave really lovely hugs when one of them was having a bad day. Last time she'd asked him for something, he'd snapped at her, and said he didn't have time. She wondered if it was because of Lukas, or if he was just under more stress because he's basically running things now.

(Part of her is curious, what would Martin do if Rosie just stopped helping? Would be notice? _Does_ he notice, or is he too engrossed in the Lonely?)

Ah, well. The Fairchild's were probably the best place to start. Least Cult-y. Plus, once she dug far enough into her contacts they were already in there, since they were frequent donaters. She called Simon twice, since he was definitely not the worst of them, and then opted to try for Harriet, and then Terra. And so on and so forth down the list.

And then she tried to call Tim, just to make sure the front desk phone was actually working. It was, so either the Fairchild family were off the grid, or something else was working against her, here.

She decided to run down to the break room for a cup of tea and give it ten minutes before she tried again. That was enough time for any supernatural elements to reveal themselves or get bored, and if it was just collective Fairchild Lunch Time, maybe someone would get back to her on their own.

There was a woman in the break room. Not an employee. Rosie knows every employee, even with the high turnover rate in most departments. She ignores her, walking right past to get to the cupboard where the tea is, and stretches up to grab her preferred type where someone had rudely elected to move it. 

(Nobody else will drink the raspberry kind, and she thinks that's stupid. It's the best kind, no arguing about milk or sugar, just a couple ounces of honey.) 

And then, then, when the water is boiling she turns her attention to the (actually, very pretty) woman who is not supposed to be in the break room, like she's only just noticed her. 

"Why don't you sit down," she smiles. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"I doubt I'll be here long," she says, but she does sit, and Rosie opts to take down a second cup, anyways and fill it with water from the kettle, pop a tea bag in, and drag everything over to the table, where she sits across from the stranger. 

The stranger brushes her bleached hair away from her forehead deliberately, telling the place here her skin and bone gives way to a billion criss-crossing white strands that shine in the light. She holds out her hand, like she wants Rosie to shake it, which she does. 

"Annabelle Cane."

"Rosie Clement. But..I bet you knew that, already."

She smiles a little wider. "I did, actually. You wanted to talk to me, and I have to admit, I'm sort of interested in just watching this whole thing pan out."

"Oh." She says, having turned to spoon honey into her tea and store it in viciously. "You mean The Plan."

"Pretty nonchalant name for what it actually is, right? Although I guess The Ritual has negative connotations for most people." 

She knows it's a ritual, technically. But yeah. "Well, it's kind of a working title. Still a lot left to do before it makes sense, even. And then there's actually doing it, and to everyone on board. And that's only if everything we're doing on a technicality - it's...you didn't ask. There's a lot left to be doing before anyone worries about semantics, is all I mean." 

Annabelle nods, swirling her spoon around her cup with a soft _chink, chink_ sound. "Of course. Rituals aren't really things with set rules. It's kind of...If you think it makes sense then it does. Since the rules don't really apply to people like us, anyways."

People like us. Rosie can't tell if Annabelle is trying to include her in this statement, or if it's a simple mishap. Does the Mother-of-Puppets make mistakes?

"Oh." Is what she decides on saying. "Well I guess I'm feeling a little better about our chances, then. Why would you want us to succeed? I mean, you guys haven't done a ritual." 

"We have a wider scope of view than most of the others. And the world as it stands is perfect for manipulation and fear. A ritual wouldn't be useful to us. Which brings us to why I'm willing to let this keep going, and give you a little advice."

"Okay...I suppose we could use the help."

"That's good. We're excited to see how this goes."

"So you'll participate?"

At this, Annabelle laughs, and shakes her head. "There's only room for one of the Mother's Children. And I believe that spot has been taken."

_What?_

"What?"

No it hadn't - Annabelle just laughs again. "For something so all-seeing, all-Knowing, the Beholding sure likes to keep its people in the dark. Do you know why I can to you, instead of your partner in crime?"

She decides that she is going to dance around whatever she's trying to tell her as long as possible, because Rosie almost definitely does not want to know what Annabelle is trying to get at. "Well, don't tell him I said this, since he's kind of sensitive about it, but the worms crawling out of his face are sort of gross. Also, he's been in a gay moping phase since one of his crushes started stalking him, and that was like a year or more ago."

This makes Annabelle laugh, really laugh. Not just the condescending sort of chuckle she had used earlier. She scrunches her nose up and snorts, which makes Rosie smile. "No, but...God, that's funny. Calling the Archives a soap opera is giving them too much credit. No, Rosie. You're one of us."

"Oh."

She doesn't want to hear it, but it kind of makes sense. Well, in that she's never felt a particular attachment to knowing or seeing things (even if she is admittedly a bit of a gossip), and so an attachment to the Beholding wouldn't have made sense. And she doesn't mind spiders, and the manipulating part...

She doesn't know if what she does couple be considered manipulation. She just knows what to say to people, is all. And knowing people had gotten her up until this point. That's not...Not like what the Web does, right? 

Annabelle's reached across the table or to lightly hold her shoulder. Her nails are black, or maybe blue, and have gold stars. It's a silly thing to notice before she noticed herself sniffling into her tea, but it's what she sees. "It's not a bad thing," she says, and it sounds like she's trying not to roll her eyes, but Rosie appreciates the comfort anyways. "Means you don't have to put up with me for the rest of forever. It's good, even. The Mother-Of-Puppets takes care of her own, unlike Beholding."

Rosie nods, and pretends like she isn't having a breakdown. She thought she was untouched. Unclaimed, maybe. "I have to get back to work," she whispers into her cooling mug. 

"Okay. Well, here the number if you need me. Oh, if you're looking for names, try Jack Barnabas." 

Rosie stands, avoiding looking at her, and dumps her mug into the sink. When she turns back around, Annabelle Cane is gone. The only thing to suggest that she was even there at all is a phone number scribbled on a sticky note in a failing highlighter, and more silver-y spider webs in the corners of the room than there had been this morning.


End file.
